Circle of life
by kagayaspirits
Summary: As he closed his eyes, what was it that he thought when the gears of ritual activated again? What was it that he thought when slumbering in this solemn hall? What was it that he thought when the circle of life repeated itself?


Finally publishing something after a long time, and I'm all nervous again. First time writing something Russia-centric and I think I blew his personalities again (no yandere!Russia I'm afraid, just very sentimental!Russia :P). Still, please enjoy this random fiction of mine, and reviews are much loved~ ^^

* * *

><p><em>What was it that he thought when he opened the door?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when he walked along the carpeted corridor, leading towards the only sunlight in the room?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when he gazed upon the wood chips out of the coffin?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when he pulled away the nails, barehanded?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when he pushed aside the lid, letting the body inside basked in warmth?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when the man inside opened his eyes and blinked to the overwhelming light?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when he took the man's hand and pulled it to his forehead and he prayed?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when this nation was finally his?<em>

* * *

><p>The door was once more opened<br>And the ritual started again.

There were two men standing in front of the temple  
>As thousands of their subjects stood behind the gate, looking at them with pressure in their eyes<br>The taller of the two, without even the last glance at the observing crowd, gave a push at the heavy door  
>And it opened instantly, with noisy creaks that sounded unpleasant to the ears<br>Unpleasant enough to be the last sound of anyone's life  
>The two men quietly walked through the slit, inside the cold air of the room<br>And closed the door behind them  
>Closed their fate behind them.<br>The men, without words, walked along the only corridor  
>Without candles, without torches,<br>Without a single sound from their feet  
>Without a single thought of what to come<br>Because this was already predetermined  
>And they both knew this.<p>

In the middle of the temple was a lone coffin  
>Laying there since god knows when<br>An extremely old coffin, with woodlice inside,  
>And maggots and the creepy crawlies<br>The sophisticated carvings on the sides and the lid were already fading with time  
>Now it looked just like any old human-sized wooden box in a junkyard<br>Inside was lined with a red satin cloth  
>Which was equally old<br>It was torn here and there, some corners were burned, others were bug-bitten, all over there were dried-up bits of blood  
>How unfit for a man like him, people would have thought<br>But for the two men staring at it  
>Now and then<br>It looked just right, the perfect royal bed for a fallen king.

Then, the taller man stepped forward  
>To the awaiting coffin, where he would be from now on<br>Once reached the altar, he turned around  
>And looked over his companion<br>Who was already kneeling on the floor, like a man about to be knighted  
>There was no holy sword on his shoulders<br>But a burden about to be lifted off  
>And another burden about to be carried<br>The kneeling man started praying  
>Thanking the lord for his guardian<br>Thanking him for all he had given and forgiven  
>Thanking him for the seventy-four years of watching over them<br>When he was done, he raised his head  
>Watching for the last time his heart and soul, standing in front of the blazing light from a lone window high above<br>He seemed to be radiating light, a lonely and cold stream of light  
>His expressions could not be fathomed, but they both knew what they were going through<br>And with a slight nod, too little to acknowledge all the things they had gone through, the standing man turned back to face the truth  
>And he smiled to himself<br>As this was already getting old.

* * *

><p>It was already a tradition, wordlessly passed down from generation to generation<br>From one ruler to another  
>From one government to the next<br>It was a secret rule that was bitterly announced on the day the reign belonged to someone new  
>'If your world was ever to be destroyed<br>Concealed your history inside the heart  
>And seal him in the temple<br>Between the red satin that lined the only coffin inside  
>Nail the lid and give him your prayers<br>Shut the door behind his slumber, and tow the bells for all to here  
>So that another day when the door was opened again<br>It will be the birth of your new nation.'  
>Nobody knew who made the rule<br>Nobody cared who made the rule  
>Once you are on top, you are bounded to fate<br>Keep your symbol alive for as long as you can, before you are forced to bring it down  
>Burn it on a stake, and tow the bells for the requiem<br>Everyone silently obeyed the spell, enchanted and blinded  
>Last time, a man had opened the coffin lid and released the sleeping monster inside<br>This time, his descendants closed the lid and walked away  
>In wait til another time.<p>

Which was just what they were doing  
>After the man had climbed into the coffin and laid down the satin mattress<br>His companion rose from the spot and walked towards the coffin  
>He slammed the coffin shut<br>And started to nail it down  
>There were multiple nail holes on the lid and there were old rusty nails lying on the floor<br>The nails shook when the man hammered down the new seals  
>Bang bang bang<br>Making sure the lid was well-shut  
>Making sure not a single light or sound could get through<br>And when it was done, the man walked away  
>No turning back, no last look<br>Not a single fragment of memory still lingered in the temple  
>The temple of Birth and Death.<p>

* * *

><p>When he dozed off, he often went back to the time when he was little<br>Back to the first time he faced the temple  
>Back to the first footsteps into this isolated prison<br>Back to the first sight of a brand new, mahogany-scented coffin  
>He was young and he had never done this before<br>But somehow, in the corner of his mind, he knew what it meant  
>He had known it when he saw them invaders galloping through his house<br>He had known it when he saw bloodshed and tears  
>He had known it when he held his wounded sisters in his arms<br>He had known it when it was time to be refreshed  
>So he did not hesitate, he did not waver<br>And he descended into the satin mattress inside  
>And he closed his eyes.<p>

What did he think of back then on his first time?  
>The wheat fields with the heaving backs of his sisters<br>The marketplace full of hustle and bustle  
>The endless taigas with unreachable conifers stretching to the other side of the hill<br>The frozen river with a fishing hole in the middle  
>The sunshine dreamland that was so far away<br>At first, it was thoughts like these  
>But it hurt, to think of them<br>Because he started to cry  
>Because he missed his sisters and the hay-filled barn<br>Because he missed the colourful yarns his sisters bought  
>Because he missed the snow-covered fir branches<br>Because he missed the small fish swimming on the other side of the ice  
>And the sunflower fields he would never ever see<p>

So he stopped thinking about them  
>Instead, he started to think of what would happen<br>Who would free him from this coffin?  
>Who would be in reign when he was finally out of here?<br>What would happen to his people?  
>Would they get enough food this winter?<br>Would there be another great snowstorm?  
>Would the traders still come in spite of the bad weather?<br>Would the puppy he secretly kept in the barn finally find its mother?  
>Would it be spring, summer or fall when he opened his eyes again?<br>Would there be a future and would he be happy?  
>Would it not be better if he just slept forever and never waken up again?<br>But these thoughts made him sad too  
>Because he started doubting his own existence<br>Because he started worrying about the children living next-door  
>Because he started looking forward to the future<br>Even if he did not know whether it was coming or not  
>And what if he failed to see such a future<br>And the next time he woke up, the world would have crumbled to pieces

So he stopped thinking altogether  
>Instead, he started to tell a story<br>Even though no one else was listening  
>He started with a slow and calm voice, because he had all the times the world had to offer<br>He started it like a fairy tale  
>Once upon a time there was three siblings living on the snow field<br>He talked about how they were living in peace  
>He talked about their daily lives, the things they did<br>Even though it was not special at all  
>But it was what he held dear<br>He talked about making bread and pulling cart  
>He talked about riding horse and being free<br>But there was always something sinister lurking at the doorstep  
>He talked about how the siblings were poor and cold<br>How they did not have enough to eat  
>How they had to fight for survival<br>How they stuck together against all odds  
>The story continued on and on<br>Until when the coffin lid was opened again  
>And there was a man praying to his lord in the temple, his soft voice echoed in the spacious room<br>The story stopped  
>For now.<p>

So he, already a grown man, once again succumbed to his fate and laid down onto the soft mattress  
>When he heard the door close from afar again and knew for sure that he was all alone<br>He started the story again  
>He talked about October Revolution<br>He talked about the Great Patriotic War  
>And the men whose corpses he stepped on as he advanced<br>And the women that cried silently on the news of their beloveds' death  
>He talked about the Yalta Conference, the Berlin Wall, the Cold War<br>He talked about the smiles and the tears that had never once been shown  
>Only for himself to hear<br>When outside, a tide was raising  
>Like a tsunami, sweeping away the remains of the past<br>The Union no longer lived through the ages  
>The crimson flag no longer inspired<br>No longer shone in glory for all men to see  
>It had reached the end of its lifespan<br>This lifespan  
>And while the revolution fire raged on the other side of the door<br>He continued to tell the story  
>But it was no longer a fairy tale<br>It was the chronicle  
>The history of his life<br>The history of a country named Russia.

* * *

><p>'There was no ceremony, only the tolling of chimes from the Spassky Gate, cheers from a handful of of surprised foreigners, and an angry tirade from a lone war veteran.'<br>(_When the Wall Came Down_– Serge Schmenmann)

* * *

><p><em>What was it that he thought when he heard the door creak opened?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when he heard footsteps muffled by the carpet, coming closer and closer every painful minute passing by?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when he heard the old piece of wood falling apart?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when he heard nails being scraped out of the lid?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when warmth seeped inside the space, heating him up?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when he opened his eyes, to the bright light from beyond the sight?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when someone took his hand and pulled it to his forehead and he heard him pray?<em>  
><em>What was it that he thought when history just repeated itself one more time?<em>

What do you know,  
>Next time he wakes up, maybe there will be sunflowers blooming outside.<p> 


End file.
